Bertie relinquished her, with a smothered sigh. He knew that he should not see her again that night, for her programme was full.
"We may meet in a country lane next week," he said, softly.
"We may," she said, with a smile that parted her lips bewitchingly, and then she was called away.
Bertie looked after her, then slowly descended the broad stairs, got his crush hat and strolled into the open street.
"That's the most sensible thing you've done for the last two hours," said Leicester Dodson's voice, behind him. "I'll follow your example," and he took out his cigar case. "Here, my man," he added, as his neat brougham drove up.
"Let us walk," said Bertie.
And they started slowly for the club.
It was very hot there, however, and the pair were soon in Leicester's chambers, which were in the same inn and only one floor below Bertie's.
Leicester Dodson was a wealthy man, and quite able to afford luxurious apartments in the Albany, or at Meurice's, but he preferred a quiet set of chambers near those of his fast friend, Bertie.
He did not work in them, but he read a great deal, and he enjoyed half an hour now and then spent in watching his hard-working friend.